


A King's temptation

by orphan_account



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Elven Lore, Forced Relationship, Insane Thranduil, M/M, On Hiatus, Parent/Child Incest, Penetration, Seduction, Submissive Legolas, Underage Legolas, mind-control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a secret that Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of Northern Mirkwood, hid from the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King's temptation

There was a secret that Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm of Northern Mirkwood, hid from the world. Not even his closest consultants knew of it, to such lengths had he gone to conceal it. It was a dark one, ugly and rank, unspeakable among his own race and all other races in Middle-Earth. 

And still, at night, when he alone roamed empty halls, it was the only thing keeping him company. With every step it would reverberate within him, grow and fester and take hold of his thoughts until he would find himself standing in front of a closed wooden door, breathing hard with the burning weight of his shame bearing him down. 

Many a night, he turned away. Save for a hand briefly resting against intricately carved wood, he barely paused there, his steps slowing but never stopping until he found himself back in his lonely rooms, heart beating with the elation of having forced back the dark urges for another night.

But it was inevitable that there would be a time when even the strength and will of a King would wane. The door was heavy, but opened soundlessly as Thranduil pushed it open. His first glance at that much desired face stole his breath. There was no doubt in his mind that there was no fairer being in all of Middle-Earth than the one he was gazing upon at this very moment. 

He looked so innocent. There was not a trace of falsehood to be found in him when he was awake, but in sleep he seemed to be glowing with an inner light reflecting his pure, gentle soul. No true evil had ever touched his precious son, even if the youngest Prince of Mirkwood was no stranger to the pain of loss. 

“Ada?”

Thranduil slowly turned. His son was looking at him, his blue eyes wide, reflecting the light of the moon shining in the high windows. Legolas, his youngest, the one child that looked so much like his mother. 

Never would Thranduil admit to having a favorite amongst his children, but there was no denying the special fondness he had always felt for this last little piece of her his love had given him before a stray Orc arrow had stolen her away from him. Legolas was so like his Anairë, both in temperament and manner that it was hard to believe he had never truly known her. 

As he was now, to a human, Legolas would have appeared to be about thirteen years old. Even if in reality he had just turned forty, he was still but a mere babe in the eyes of the Sindar. Not a child exactly, as Elves could walk and talk before even a year had gone by and quickly reached a point in their mental development that would deem them adult by human standards. 

But there was a reason that Elven children were only considered to be of age when they reached their first century. It took that long for them to overcome adolescent instincts and for their personality traits to consolidate. Before that – especially in the first five decades of their life – an Elven child was as prone to manipulation and deceit as any other youth. It was a well-kept secret amongst their kind and they went to great length to ensure to keep their offspring hidden to shield them from anyone who would exploit such fragility of mind. 

Which was why this wicked longing had been so steadfastly denied by the Elven Kind. The very thought of taking advantage of an Elfling like that was abominable, and so Thranduil had pushed it down deep, buried it under parental guidance and distant affection, spending as much time as he could away from his youngest son. 

It worked for a while, giving his son precious years to prosper and with every passing moment, Thranduil’s hope that he would be able to withstand temptation until Legolas had outgrown his vile need. 

But with every year that went by, the craving grew stronger and more absolute, until there was no dismissing it any longer. It had festered and spread, guiding his every move, stealing his piece of mind and now he found himself here, in his son’s chambers, unable to keep himself from reaching out for him. “Mell-ion,” he breathed, walking closer until his trembling hand made contact with warm flesh. 

The first touch was like coming awake after a long sleep. Sensation flooded Thranduil like a tidal wave, burning through him and leaving him sensitized to his son’s warmth and silken skin that trembled under his fingertips. Legolas was watching him, confusion growing in his beautiful eyes as he endured his father’s increasingly indecent touches. 

Thranduil was enthralled. He grew heavy and tender between the legs as he gently explored the lithe body of this most wondrous creature. Knowing that this beautiful boy had arisen from his own loins added a fervent heat to Thranduil’s dark need as he saw both traces of himself and his beloved wife in Legolas. 

As the fever of carnal desire took a hold of Thranduil’s very being, there was no place for doubt in his mind. This was inevitable, the natural conclusion to every happenstance leading up to this very moment – Legolas was his as much as Anairë had been, and nothing could come between them now. 

Legolas frowned as Thranduil grew bolder, but he lay passive underneath him. He was trusting and silent as his father divested him of his light sleeping gown, exposing the elfling to the cool night air – reverent as if revealing a rare gem. Disrobing himself was an afterthought that proved detrimental as Legolas’ eyes widened in trepidation at the sight of him.

Thranduil found himself murmuring in Sindarin, secret words of devotion and passion, as he himself gazed upon perfection. Pale, smooth skin covered slender limbs, while long, blonde tresses were feathered out above soft pillows, framing the most beautiful face he had ever known. His manhood pulsed with his need to satisfy the burning in his veins and he kept up the stream of endearments even as he lowered his face to caress the supple chest now exposed to him, teasing small nipples into tiny peaks. 

Legolas’ breathing quickened and his soft lips formed an objection that Thranduil swallowed with his own. Their kiss was a revelation to the Elven King as it quickly grew from sweet and tender to ferocious and wanton, his plundering of his son’s stunned mouth only fueling the fire waging within him. 

When he lowered himself down and trapped his rigid sex between their bodies, Thranduil threw his head back in utter rapture. A small part of him noted that there was no answering hardness between Legolas’ legs, but even that could not restore him to his rightful mind. 

Using the clear pearls of his arousal leaking forth, he opened his young son’s body with fingers and mouth, unaware of the prince’s fleeing sanity. When an eternity later he pushed into that sacred opening, Thranduil was far enough gone that a few long strokes inside tight heat was all he could endure. The roaring approach of his release left him hard of breath and blind to anything but the heat gathering in his loins until with a low groan, the Elven King’s sex quickened in rapture. 

The moment he spilled his seed, sanity returned. Even as blissful pulses still rocked through him, the veil of his licentiousness lifted and – his heart thudding in his chest with terror – Thranduil saw his son through a father’s eyes instead of a lover’s. 

With a sharp cry, he threw himself back, dislodging himself from the tight sheath and came to a rest at the end of the bed, breathing hard. His manhood had barely finished its peak and he must have made quite a sight, naked and still in the throes of passion.

Before him, Legolas was a quivering bundle of half-awakened elfling. Still too young in mind and body to comprehend the feelings his father’s violation had caused, he quaked in trepidation. His body was opened still from accommodating Thranduil’s hard flesh and leaked now the damning evidence of the King’s transgression.

“Ada…?” The voice was soft, a mere tremble, and hardly recognizable as his bold son’s.

Thranduil moaned from deep in his throat, a never before felt sickness rising in him. He had done this – had forced his fledgling son into something that was proscribed by their people for a reason that was now revealed to him in all clarity.

Because even in the tiniest reactions, he could now see what he had done to his own son for he had changed the very make-up of Legolas’ mind. Alongside everything the young prince was, a door had been opened, one that only Thranduil could open. This door now gave him full control of him, would allow him to bend Legolas to his own will if he so wished. Something had broken in Legolas the moment his unprepared body had been forced to lust by someone he trusted, and he would never be the same again. 

Grief and regret descended upon Thranduil like a dark cloud. The satisfaction and tranquility of a recent union was at odds with the remorse he felt at having harmed his own child such and so for a long while, he tried to find his voice.

“Be still, little leaf,” he finally murmured, using his favored term of endearment. “I am here.”

Legolas reached for him then, blindly seeking the security of his father’s touch, unaware that only moments before, it had been his undoing.

Unable to refuse him this comfort, Thranduil laid down beside his son once more. Gathering him up into his arms, he gentled his trembling child with soft caresses, not stopping, even when Legolas’ confused senses translated the parental care into something different, something charged with an energy that should still be foreign to him.

When he felt the young body in his arms quicken, Thranduil heaved a shuddering sigh and moved his touch towards the straining flesh, stirring it into rapture with sure, even strokes. Legolas cried out softly as he was ushered towards a threshold of feeling that threatened to overwhelm his innocent soul. 

The sight of him like this awoke renewed heat in Thranduil and as he took his son for the second time that night, moving deep within him, he cried silent tears of sorrow. For he knew that he would never be able to let this go.


End file.
